“Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. ’ ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life.
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